


push me to the edge / all my friends are dead

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: F is for Family (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, POV Second Person, Short One Shot, Sibling Love, Underage Drinking, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 05:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13357941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Twice your height, twice your weight. If only all those shopping carts he liked to sit in would appear right now.





	push me to the edge / all my friends are dead

It's the year 1973. It's cold, and a weekend, and very very late, but you weren't in the mood for sleeping. Rather, you were watching the fresh snowfall in the darkness, leaving thick, sparkling layers of powder over the earth and the backyard. Though it was dark as pitch in the sky, the moon stared down a ray of pale light, and flecks of snow were fluttering down in front of it like little moving freckles. It was the 70's, and thus, sticking your head under the blanket with some tablet games had yet to be an option. (Though if that was an option, you'd probably take it.)

It was around that moment when you heard a thud from the living room. By all accounts, Billy was sleeping through it, and so was mom. Dad was either the cause of the thudding sound, or snoring violently over it. Judging by the motor noises coming from the ceiling, you assumed the latter.

Most likely, Major knocked something down. Though you thought dogs were diurnal like humans. Maybe he was half-cat. 

Sticking your head out into the hall, you could see the TV still on, leaving eerie, flickering shadows of couches and chairs. Maybe it was a serial killer. Or a monster. You grabbed Billy's hockey stick, which was still propped against the wall by his bedroom door, brandishing it like a bludgeoning weapon. If the Tales from the Crypt guy was gonna come get you, that motherfucker wouldn't take you alive, that was for sure!

That thought was interrupted by a weird coughing noise, and then something kind of liquidy. Like a splurt. Or a splort. Maybe even just a splat.

Tentatively, you took a step forward. In front of the television set, on the floor, a figure was splayed out. You fumbled around until reaching the kitchen counter, grabbing a bright red flashlight and shining it on the figure. 

" _Stoppit..._ "

You blinked, stepping over empty beer cans, to where the figure laid in a pool of its own vomit.  _Oh, Kevin._

You said it twice in your head. Once in a pitying tone, and the other like a mocking sitcom, because you're never really sure what to think.

Recently it'd been slipping your mind that Kevin even lived with you. He'd been sleeping in the cellar recently -- one with a metal double-door outside. It kind of looked like a nuke shelter or something to you. He'd moved there because he was sick of living with Billy, and you can't blame him at all on that front. But since he spent almost all his time in his room, that meant you couldn't even walk by on accident and show him your drawings, watch him stare in intrigue at your artistic prowess, or force him to play you a few bars on his unplugged electric guitar. 

He covered his head, rolling over face-down. His hair was gross and sticky and... it totally stank.

"Kevin. Get up."

He was twice your height and weight. If only you had a forklift, or shopping cart, or magic powers. He reached for a blanket sitting on the couch, but you stopped him before he could tug it into the vomit puddle. "Kevin, it's laaaate!" You whispered as loud as you could. 

"Shuddup!" 

"If dad finds you in here then you're gonna get in trouble."

In the low light, you could see his eyelids glossily flick open and closed, like the lens of a camera. He flattened his palms beneath his body, shakily raising into a sitting position. As soon as he was upright, he hunched over to puke once more. Part of you thinks you should take him to the bathroom, but... you figured at this hour it'd be safer to just blame Major for this one. "Can you walk, or what?"

"Gimme uh secon'!"

You began hushing him, as if your whispers were somehow quieter than his soft, grumbling voice. 

"Try holding the arm of the couch."

"I knocked sm' magazines offa the table..."

"It's fine, just..."

Walking him outside in this weather would be more than moronic. Not to mention that there was little to support him, and the stairs... Of course, you never made these considerations, and instead just felt like you didn't  _wanna_ go out. Okay, maybe you did consider it. You just didn't wanna dwell on Kevin cracking his neck on a flight of stairs.

You shoved his half-standing body onto the couch, grabbing fistfuls of tissues and handing them to him. At the very least, he knew what they were for.

Like  _hell_ you'd scrape the vomit off of his face.

"Don't forget your hair."

"Mm." He blinks, tugging at the tips of his fluffy hair with the tissues. "Why're you up, anyway? I'm fine."

"I dunno, I just couldn't sleep. Maybe my  _Kevin is being dumb_ senses were going off."

His expression was either one of bewildered offense, or shocked happiness that someone in this household gave a damn. 

He tugged the blanket over himself. "Turn off the TV." He's clearly already too busy trying to pass out. He wasn't even watching the stupid thing. Dad would scream if he knew what their power bill would look like because of this.

"Night."

It was mumbled, but he did say it. Even tagged on a softer "I love you."

Brothers were so weird. But between the two you got, you always liked Kevin better.

"G'night."

"Cover for me?"

"I was gonna."

A pause. "Why do you drink so much?"

"I think I'm depressed," He pulled the blanket over his head. "don't tell dad."

Depression was something nobody really understood yet. In fact, even now nobody seems to understand it, but back then it was considered a state of mind and not a disorder. You weren't really sure what to say. 

"Sorry."

"I love you so much. You're really good at math. Goodnight."

You didn't understand it either. But you were fine taking your misunderstanding to bed.


End file.
